Something inside me goes very still.
“Knew what?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
In that second, time seems to stop. All of my dread gathers inside of me, ready to explode when the floor inevitably falls out from underneath me.
“Who I am,” he answers simply. “And what I do.”
I blink once slowly, trying to come up with a response to this.
I don’t know any of it. How could I? He never tells me about what he does. My only glimpses into his world are the scary men he employs to follow me around, all in the name of keeping me safe.
“I mean, I knew you were involved in something,” I manage. “But I guess I thought it was business. Shady business, maybe, but…” I trail off because the words sound naïve even to my own ears.
He tilts his head slightly, not unkindly. “Molly. You saw me kill a man in the alley.”
“I thought…” I swallow. “I thought that was because I was in danger.”
His expression softens, but not in a comforting way. It’s more like he’s bracing himself for my reaction.
“I was raised in this world,” he says quietly. “My father ran this organization before me. I didn’t choose it. I was born into it. And when he died, I inherited everything that came with the title.”
His words drop at my feet like an anvil. My brain tries to catch up to what he’s saying. He doesn’t look ashamed. He doesn’t try to explain it away. He doesn’t minimize it or dress it up. He just tells me plainly who he is.
“What is your organization, exactly?” I ask in a tight voice.
He takes a deep breath, but doesn’t try to push into my space. He can clearly see that I’m trying to understand all of this.
“I’m thepakhanof a Bratva—what you would probably call the Russian mafia.”
I take a slow step back, needing a little more space to breathe.
“So when Davýd calls you the Devil?” I inquire, trying to keep my voice level.
“It’s because when I was young,” he interrupts softly, “I made sure the men who betrayed my father or me never got the chance to hurt us again. The same way I took care of that man in the alley. The same way I’ll take care of the one that got away.”
My breath catches in my throat.
“So you kill people for a living?” I whisper.
His eyes meet mine. They’re steady. Dark. Not cruel, but not apologetic either.
“It isn’t my main job description.” He chuckles, trying to lighten the mood. “But, yes, when the situation requires it, I do what needs to be done to take care of business.”
Something cold trickles down my spine, clashing with the hot steam of the soup.
He watches the shift in me, the way I straighten, the way my hands curl into fists at my sides, and his jaw flexes, like he hates that he caused it.
“Molly,” he says slowly, “nothing’s changed here. I am exactly the same man you’ve known since that first night.”
“Are you?” I ask, a little desperately.
He nods once. “Yes.”
“And you didn’t think that this was something I should know?”
His throat works, like the question hits deeper than he expected.
“I thought you understood what it meant when I brought you here. You’re such a smart woman, Molly. I thought you’d put it together.”
